


Skerry's Monster

by Zolac_no_Miko



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Metanoia (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-31
Updated: 2008-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zolac_no_Miko/pseuds/Zolac_no_Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I knew, at that moment, that it was possible to create, not simply a mere object, but life itself. And with that knowledge, I became determined. I would create a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skerry's Monster

**Author's Note:**

> My second-place entry in the Halloween "Classic Horror" contest on [riverside_hq](http://riverside-hq.livejournal.com/). I present to you a retelling of "Metanoia" and Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's Frankenstein. This piece is best described as AU. Angels and Ridden have been excised, and characters have been modified to fit the story. To put this in another way... imagine this is _fanart_... but made of _words_. Much thanks to Petra for beta.
> 
> Originally [posted on Livejournal](http://riverside-hq.livejournal.com/281831.html) 10/31/2008.

My Dearest Brother,

Many extraordinary occurrences have I detailed to you in these letters as I continue on my voyage of discovery in this Arctic wilderness, yet I assure you none so strange as these that I am about to describe to you. So much has happened in the days since I last wrote you. I scarcely think you will believe my story, but I assure you that everything is just as I have witnessed it.

Some few days ago our research vessel became locked in the ice. It is a common problem, and did not cause undue excitement among my team and the crew. We spent the morning cataloging our water samples and then passed the afternoon as we would, with cards or books.

That night was uncommon clear and still, and on the endless plain of ice the starlight seemed as bright as the moon. Well after the others had retired to their beds I braved the cold for the sake of that infinite field of stars that bent over us, silently gleaming.

Some time after midnight, I know not when, I chanced to glance near the horizon and caught some movement, a slipping shadow at the very edge of vision. I thought it to be my imagination, but I lifted my binoculars to scan the spot. There it was, moving at speed across the ice. I fancied the shape to be that of a man on a sledge, pulled by a team of dogs… and the dogs were white, unnaturally so, whiter than the ice, in contrast with which they seemed to glow with a dead light. The shape vanished beyond the limit of sight within seconds, leaving me alone with the quiet stars. After several long minutes spent pondering the shadow on the ice, I thought again that I had imagined it, or stood dreaming with my eyes open, and I sent off myself to bed.

The next morning dawned as clear as the night had been, and the ice began to break up. We continued north along our transect, creeping through the groaning floes, sampling as we went.

Around noon a crewman spotted a black spot on the ice, near the line of our transect. As we approached, we saw that it was the crushed remains of a sledge, from which the dogs were missing, but the seat of which still held the unmoving figure of a man. The sledge perched precariously on the slant of a small chunk of ice ringed by a channel of cold seawater, threatening at any moment to slide into oblivion.

With great haste we dispatched a boat to the iceberg and its seeming-lifeless passenger, hoping against hope that we would reach him in time. After long agonizing minutes spent navigating the icy labyrinth, the boat retrieved the poor soul from his cold bed, and the man was brought aboard. A miracle! He yet lived, though frozen to the bone and fading. He had long black hair and tan skin, and a build not that of a man of the north.

I had him installed in my quarters, as I share a wall with the engine room and consequently have one of the warmest cabins in the ship. Carefully, patiently, we nursed him back to health, and life returned to him.

When he had regained consciousness, he told me his name was Alexander Skerry, and that he was from the Twin Cities; I told him how we had found him, and that he was on a research vessel, and as his condition was no longer life-threatening he would be traveling with us until we returned to port. He asked the direction of our travel, and when I told him we were headed north, he nodded, seeming satisfied.

“But how did you come to be stranded on the floe by yourself, so far north, on a dog sledge?” I asked.

Alexander (as I came to know him in the telling of his story) replied, “It is a long story, and one so fraught with horror and tragedy, I would scarce have the strength to tell it. But my despair may yet have value, if in the telling of the story I prevent only one other from making the mistakes I have made. There is great shame upon me, and I would unburden myself of it. Please, will you listen to me?” He fixed his earnest amber eyes on mine.

I nodded, and he began.

“I am, effectively, an orphan. At a very young age I was cast out from the home of my childhood into the cold, unforgiving world. I do not doubt that I very well might not be alive today had I not been taken in by a group called the Foundation. I came to live and work at the Foundation’s Twin Cities Riverside branch, and the people there became my friends. Rather, it might be more correct to say they became my family, more a real family than that into which I was born. William Bradley, who became as a father to me; a wiser, more compassionate man I have never met. Gina Paresi, a sweet, innocent, lively girl; I loved her as a brother would love a precious little sister. Aleksandr Ivanov, with whom I shared a name; he called me Zander and I called him Lexi, and he was my closest friend. Jane, Emily, Becky, and Edward; each were, in there own way, pillars of strength as I found my way in the world.

More dear to me than all of these, though I loved them unrestrainedly, was a man named Kevin Sobiezki. We shared a bond of love the strength of which cannot properly be conveyed by words. There does not on this earth exist, nor ever before, nor ever will, a man so loyal, so pure, and so loving as Kevin. We were fast friends and lovers for many years, and we had no doubts but that we would be together indefinitely.

I was happy. I had good friends, and a kind lover. I had made a family, a life for myself. I could not have imagined, then, what unkind Fate had in store for me. I look back now, and think of all the times I could have turned aside tragedy, had I but known. And yet, sometimes I feel that I was doomed from the start, my life cursed for no other reason than for that it belonged to Alexander Skerry.

Since childhood I have exhibited singular skill with computers; I know the languages they speak, and I can speak them fluently, and thus, create. Code is like poetry, like music; to program is to compose a symphony. The language has always fascinated me, and I have devoted the entirety of my life to the study of it.

It was recently, within the past year, that I discovered the suggestion of a possibility in the numbers… the possibility of affecting the material world with a computer program. The idea enthralled me, and I spent many weeks exploring this possibility. After many late nights and restless days I perfected my code; yes, it was possible! I could design an object in a program and it would come into being in reality! I thought my excitement could not be greater, but at that moment I was hit by infernal inspiration— I say not divine, for no act of God or angels could be responsible for the seed of so much tragedy and violence—and it was from this moment that my doom fell upon me. I was set unalterably on a course to my own destruction. I knew, at that moment, that it was possible to create, not simply a mere object, but life itself. And with that knowledge, I became determined.

I would create a man.

My determination became an obsession, which set upon me like a fever. There was nothing, nothing but the code. I ate not but rarely; I slept not for days. I never left my room. I kept my work secret and withdrew from my friends, my family, who pleaded with me to take heed of my failing health. I would not listen, could not hear, could not see, could not think of _anything_ but my program.

I watched him take shape on the screen, only numbers then, but _I_ could see his beauty. My fingers caressed the keys as I shaped the curve of his jaw, the arch of his foot, the color of his skin, his myopia. Every detail, even his ‘flaws’, carefully thought out, planned, crafted.

He would be _perfect_.

Finally, when I felt myself to be on the verge of collapse, I reached that fateful juncture. The program was complete, my creation was whole and perfect; all that was required was a single keystroke and he would _live_. Trembling in every fiber of my being, scarce able to breathe, I reached out and touched the keys….

Imagine what I felt, after endless days of working without rest, to have my perfect creation appear standing before me! He was naked, as all men are at the beginning of life; what need had I of shame? I had programmed every inch of that flawless skin. As I watched and marveled, he breathed… he opened his eyes.

Oh! He was as beautiful as I had imagined him to be! Gray-green eyes as cool as ice, auburn hair, porcelain skin, a smattering of freckles, an elegant jaw and cheekbones that hinted at a fragility I knew to be false. His beauty was unearthly… angelic, even. My heart thrilled with triumph!

He turned his eyes on me and I caught my breath, pinned under his gaze like a mouse before a serpent. I saw a muscle in his thigh clench, and a moment later he took a hesitant step forward. Again he stepped, feeling his way, learning how it felt to walk. It took him an eternity to cross the room and still I could not move.

At last he stood before me, not a foot between us. Neither spoke a word as he studied me, inscrutable. Tentative, he reached up with one hand and touched my face. He slid his fingers across my check, along the edge of my jaw, across my lips, following every exploration with his eyes. Still I was frozen under his gaze.

With his other hand he touched my forearm, slid it slowly up to my shoulder, then trailed it slowly down across my chest and stomach. He leaned in, slowly, ever so slowly, and pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth.

I was suddenly very aware that our bodies were mere inches apart. I could feel the heat of him; feel my own heavily beating heart. It seemed much more important than before that he was naked. He slid his hand to the back of my head, tangled his fingers in my hair. He covered my mouth with his, and I was lost.

All I could hear was the sound of his breathing, my breathing. All I could feel was the heat of his mouth, his hands. He leaned heavily on me and we fell against a wall. His hands continued to explore my body, felt their way under my clothing to explore my skin. His teeth brushed my lips; his tongue brushed my tongue, the roof of my mouth. My own hands roamed over his smooth skin, and I delighted in the feel of it.

He pressed his body against mine, pulled my body against his. All that separated us was one thin layer of clothing. His mouth left mine to taste the skin of my jaw and neck and I gasped for breath, opening eyes I hadn’t remembered closing. I returned to myself, and fear rushed in.

I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t allow this to happen. I loved Kevin, and I could not betray his love for me, or his trust. No, I could not do this. Not for my perfect creation, not for all of his beauty… not for the heat of his mouth or the taste of his lips.

I laid hands upon him and pushed, gently trying to separate his body from mine. He only clung more tightly. I took firmer hold of his arms and shoved, gaining a few inches of distance, but he growled and shoved back, pinning me against the wall and sinking his teeth into my shoulder. I yelled and struggled, shoving him roughly away from me. He snarled, his icy gray-green eyes clouded with lust and rage; he took hold of me and _threw_ me against the wall, clawing and biting and tearing at my clothes. With a shout I struggled free of him and ran from the room. I did not stop running until I had left the room and the building far behind me, and wandered alone in the dark of the city.

For hours I wandered, exhausted and tattered, but too afraid to return to my apartment. _He_ would be waiting for me, and I could not bear to see him. The feelings inspired in me by his touch were too strong… they were intoxicating. I could not risk losing myself again. ‘What have I done?’ I asked of the darkened city, ‘How could I have been such a fool?’ But I received no answer.

Eventually, too weary to stay out one moment longer, I returned with dread to my apartment. My creation was nowhere to be seen. Filled with immeasurable relief, I fell into my bed and lapsed immediately into oblivion.

I slept soundly, but my dreams were turbulent. My feverish brain replayed the scene to my mind’s eye over and over again, tormenting me with forbidden pleasures. I could see him, in my dream, approaching me slowly, slowly; my soul was enflamed with desire and shrouded with fear. My body was restless, disturbed by my thoughts, and some small sound at this point woke me. My eyes flew open, and in the dim of my room I perceived a shape bending over me. I could see naught but a silhouette, but I knew him as well as if a million suns illuminated him; it was my creation, he had returned! In the dark I saw his hand reach out toward me, and in a fit of terror I cried out, ‘Don’t touch me!’ He paused, retreated, and vanished from my room.

The encounter left me deeply unsettled, and for the rest of that night sleep lay beyond my reach. I lay still, my eyes open in the black, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for him to come back again. But he did not.

The next day I fell ill, as one does when one has been overworked and the stress reaches a breaking point. I lay in bed for days, feverish and weak, and for the whole ordeal distraught in the belief that my creation would return to plague me. But he did not. I recovered my health and still he did not return, and I allowed myself to believe that I was rid of him.

What followed was a brief return to happiness, the memory of which is bitter in hindsight when I reflect on the horrors that came after. I returned to the company of my fellows, who welcomed me, quite literally, with open arms. I apologized profusely for my distance and isolation during the previous weeks, but told no one of my work, for I was too ashamed of what I had done. My beloved friends forgave me, and relieved as they were to see me returned from illness and isolation, they did not press me to closely with questions.

My shame at what I had done was strongest when I thought of Kevin, and how I had betrayed him. I could not tell him… no, I dared not! But I swore to make it up to him, and be once again deserving of his love.

One night I took him out to all of our favorite haunts; we had dinner, we danced, and in the early hours of the morning, before the sun lightened the sky, we walked together along the river. I took his hand and told him that I wished to be by his side forever, and asked if he would accept my hand in marriage. ‘Yes!’ he cried, ‘A million times yes!’ and we embraced, and kissed. I believe I have never been happier at any other time in my life. And yet, as we returned to our home, walking slowly hand in hand beneath the trees, I felt uneasy. Ghostly fingers prickled up my spine and neck, that intangible sensation one gets of knowing one is being watched; yet every time I turned to look, no living creature presented itself.

I forgot my half-formed fears, and for a few days, I was deliriously happy. Then tragedy struck.

Dear sweet Gina, my beloved little sister, was found dead. She had been brutally murdered, shot in the back of her head. Every soul at TC Riverside was consumed with grief. It seemed inconceivable, that such a cheerful, loving soul should be taken from us so soon.

The day of Gina’s funeral was dour and stormy, as if the heavens themselves raged and wept at the injustice of her too young, too violent death. It was a small funeral, attended only by Foundation members. My grief so overwhelmed me that I received no comfort from the words of the priest; I stared numbly at poor Gina’s coffin and tried to pray. After a time, a peculiar sensation penetrated my numbness; again I felt overpoweringly that I was being watched.

I turned and saw—him! _Him_! My creation! He was seated in the back of the church, in the very last pew. His cold eyes bored into me, needles of green ice. When he saw that I had seen him, he stood unhurriedly, his gaze never leaving me, and slipped out of the door.

I was horrified. Surely, surely, _he_ had killed Gina! I knew, at that moment—I _knew_ it was the creature, as surely as I knew my own name! I leapt to my feet and ran to the door, but he was gone without a sign. My friends asked me what had caused me to jump up so abruptly, but I said nothing. How could I have explained to them what I had seen? I remained silent until well after Gina’s body was lowered into the ground.

The following day contained a shock just as horrible. The police, investigating the murder, found a gun that matched the murder weapon in the possession of our own Emily Nelson. She was taken into custody amidst a maelstrom of confusion and disbelief. It simply was not possible for someone as good and kind as Emily to be guilty of such a crime; she loved Gina as dearly as the rest of us. Of course she denied the charge. But as the investigation continued, the evidence mounted up against her. Bullets, shell-casings, fingerprints… lies, all lies, all of it! None of us believed it but only I _knew_ she was being framed. I was overwhelmed with guilt; all of this was my fault, all of it! And yet I could say nothing, do nothing. I knew the identity of the culprit, but I had no proof. Nor could I tell anyone of my creation; who would believe me?

The investigation and trial wore on, and all our spirits were blackened with melancholy, none more so than mine. During visits, Emily seemed despondent. She blamed herself for Gina’s death. We insisted that she was innocent, but all she would ever say was, ‘It’s my fault. I should have been there. I was supposed to be with her. It’s my fault.’ I wanted so badly to tell her that the fault was mine, but every day I left without saying a word.

The end of the trial came, and the verdict was reached: guilty. The next morning Emily was found dead in her cell; she had taken her own life, bleeding herself at the wrists with a stolen dinner fork.

Again, the Foundation grieved. Wracked with guilt, I found I could not bear to be in the company of my fellows. I could not even take comfort in the arms of my fiancé; I felt I did not deserve comfort. It became a habit of mine to take extended walks alone at night, in the ashy dark of the city. As I wandered the dirty streets and shadowed alleyways, always I felt eyes upon me; I knew _he_ was watching. But always when I turned around, he was not there.

After several nights of this, I could bear it no longer. I went to a park, the same where I had proposed to Kevin many weeks before, and stood in the darkest shadows of the trees, and waited. After minutes that felt like hours, I felt a presence close to me in the darkness. I turned, and he was there.

He was as beautiful as I remembered, but I felt none of the awe and exultation of those very first moments. Horror and guilt made him terrible in my eyes. His clothes were simple, black and inexpensive looking, but only served to highlight his terrible beauty.

For several long, horrible moments I stared at him, and he stared at me, and I couldn’t speak. Then my anger and guilt and grief poured out from me. ‘Why do you do this?!’ I shouted. ‘How could you… two innocent lives! What vile instincts urge you to commit such crimes?!’

The creature’s face was hard as iron, and his eyes glacial and accusing. ‘You,’ he said, ‘you brought me into this world and then you abandoned me. You gave me the gift of life and then you cursed me to a joyless existence. When I opened my eyes you were the first being that I saw, and you were beautiful. All I wanted was to touch your skin, taste your mouth, hear your breathing. You created me… I reached out to you and then you _rejected_ me.

I was so confused. You pushed me from you and ran away. I tried to follow you, but you were lost among the buildings. I didn’t understand why you had run from me, but it hurt and all I could think of was to find you again. Eventually I returned to your room and found you sleeping. You looked so quiet, so peaceful lying there. I thought perhaps I had done wrong. I would be gentler. But you woke and you shouted at me, and I fled.

I tried to make sense of your words. I thought that you must not like to be touched, or that touching was not something that people do. I made myself content merely to watch you from a distance.

I watched, and I saw you with your people. You touched, and you did not shout at them. I saw you with your lover. You embraced, and kissed, and you did not push him away. I became angry. You did not dislike touch; you disliked touching _me_. You tossed me away to suffer alone. I resolved then to take from you what I could not have. And so I have done, and so I will continue to do, unless you give me what I want.’

I felt as if I had swallowed ice and glass. I trembled all over. ‘I cannot give you what you want,’ I said.

‘Make for me a mate,’ he replied, and his voice was softer, begging. ‘Make for me another man, one like me, one who will touch me and love me, since you will not.’

Bring another such monster into the world? I could not. I thought of the evils done by my one creation, and I could not bear the risk of seeing this evil doubled. ‘I will not!’ I shouted. ‘You will kill again, and your mate with you, and everything will only get worse!’

‘No,’ he said. ‘We will not. We will disappear from this city, and I will never harm another soul. Make for me a mate. Make him look like you.’

I stared at him in shock. ‘Why?’ I asked.

He leaned in close, and I shook with fear and the memory of desire. He said, ‘I love you. I hate you. You are my God and my Devil. …Do this for me, and you will never see me again. You _owe_ me.’ And his eyes burned, which before were always cold.

I closed my eyes. ‘Yes,’ I replied, feeling sick with myself, ‘yes. I will make for you a man.’ I was answered with silence, and when I opened my eyes, he was gone.

Heavy-hearted, I turned to this new task: creating a man that would be perfect for this perfect man, a mate for this monster. Again I shut myself in my room and would see no one, speak to no one. Unlike before, I was not consumed with a feverish passion; I approached my work with dread. And always, always I felt his eyes on me as I wrote code, though I never saw him.

Though I hated the work, I crafted him carefully. He resembled me, but there were differences; I could not bear the thought of my face worn by a soulless monster. He would be younger, smaller, sweeter. His eyes would be darker, his skin would be lighter, his hair would be straighter. He would have an innocent smile. He took shape beneath my fingertips and in the numbers on the monitor, and I knew he was beautiful. I felt confident that my monster would be pleased with my new creation.

And yet… though I had given him an innocent face, I could not shake the fear that he would turn murderous like my first creation. This fear grew and intensified, worsening as I neared the completion of my program. How could I live with myself if I released this new monster on the world? I grew more and more anxious until, one morning, exhausted with lack of sleep and crazed with fear, I deleted the program and all copies.

Immediately I felt a rush of relief. I _would not_ be responsible for any future horrors. The monster had been destroyed, and would never come into being!

At this moment I happened to glance out of the window, and what I saw chilled my heart. It was _him_. He was crouched on the roof of a neighboring building, staring in at me, watching. As he realized what I had done, and what I no longer intended to do, a mask of utter fury slid over his face. In a matter of moments he disappeared from the roof and was gone.

I felt I had made the morally irreprehensible decision; I could not bring myself to regret that I had prevented another such creature from drawing breath. Yet for several days I was filled with horror and anticipation. And for several days, nothing happened.

Then Lexi, my dearest friend, was found dead. He had been killed, the same as dear Gina, shot in the back of the head. Once more our family was overcome with grief, and I was wracked with guilt. I fell into a deep depression, and would not leave my bed for many days.

My friends were concerned for me. They assumed that I was despondent at the loss of Lexi, who had been to me like a brother. My grief was far outweighed, however, by the blame I had laid on my own shoulders. I was not to be consoled.

William, shouldering as always his paternal role, thought that perhaps some new happiness might cure me of my melancholy, and lift all of our spirits. He came to my bed one day with Kevin at his side, and sat, and spoke earnestly to me. ‘My son,’ he said, ‘nothing would make my heart gladder than to see the two of you married. Your union would bring joy to each other, and to all of us, and raise us above the tragedies that have haunted our family. Alexander, Kevin, let us plan for your wedding.’

I had not felt the monster watching me since Lexi had died, and I allowed myself to hope that he had had his fill of revenge and I would see no more of him. And so, I consented, and the preparations were made. Alas, I could not feel entirely content; as the day of the wedding approached, I became increasingly nervous, jumping at shadows and startling at the tiniest of noises. I hovered near Kevin incessantly, afraid to let him out of my sight. I looked forward to my wedding with great anticipation, but my health faded and my nerves failed me.

The day of the wedding finally arrived; at long last my beloved Kevin and I exchanged vows before God. It was a happy occasion, if bittersweet; Gina, Emily, and Lexi were sorely missed. The monster did not show. We drank and made merry until well into the evening, then retired for the night.

Kevin suggested that we watch the stars on the rooftop before going to bed, and I readily agreed. I went to fetch blankets, expecting to find him still waiting for me—but to my horror, he was gone! He had gone up to the roof ahead of me! Fearing the worst, I took the stairs two at a time… but it was too late. I found him, dead and bleeding, a hole in his head.

I did not even have time to properly grieve before tragedy struck again. Not more than a day after his death, the monster took Jane, Becky, and Edward all at once; they were the victims of a car bomb, an evil trap laid by the fiend.

Wretched though I was, I was young, and my body was strong. William, my dear friend and father, suffered grievously from the deaths of so many that had been like sons and daughters to him. He fell ill and was confined to bed, and though I attended him with the utmost care, his poor kind heart gave out and he, too, passed away.

I was alone in the world, and I had nothing and no one left. _He_ had robbed me of everything! Grimly, I reached into my heart, where long had dwelt only my guilt and my grief; I carved out a new space and I filled it with vengeance.

I became determined to kill the creature. I would hunt him, run him down like a dog, and destroy him as he had destroyed my friends. As if sensing my resolve, he led me on a chase for many weeks, allowing me to catch a glimpse of him when the trail went cold, but always staying just out of reach. I followed him north until trees became tundra, and tundra became snow, and snow became ice. He began to travel by dog-sledge, and so did I. I was close on his tail when the ice broke up and I lost my dogs; that is how you found me.”

He concluded his account and begged exhaustion, so I left him to rest and pondered the incredible story he had told. I pondered, too, the swift-moving shape I had seen during the night, and wondered if perhaps I hadn’t imagined it after all.

That night, as we both lay sleeping in my cabin, I was startled awake by Alexander’s cry of fear. “Do you hear that?” he exclaimed. “Howling… howling dogs… oh, what a terrible sound!” I could hear nothing, but he was hysterical, and would not go back to sleep.

This continued for several nights; Alexander would hear the howling of dogs and it would send him into fits of terror. He could not sleep; he ceased to eat. His health deteriorated, and he fell ill. I ordered the ship turned around, hoping we could make it to shore in time. Perversely, after a couple of days of sailing the ice closed in and we were stuck again, held fast in the white grip of the north.

It was just two nights ago when Alexander spoke to me suddenly as I sat watching over him in the early evening. “The howling gets quieter every night,” he said, “and tonight I can’t hear it at all.”

“That is happy news!” I said. “Perhaps you will finally be able to rest.”

“He is coming,” he replied. “It is over. It is time I paid for my sins.” Concerned, I asked him what he meant, but he would say no more.

Later that same night, well into the dark hours and on again toward morning, I awoke suddenly without knowing what had roused me. Groping in the dark, I switched on a lamp—and very nearly shrieked in terror. There was a man standing in my cabin, a man I had never seen before… a man with auburn hair, cream-pale skin, and icy gray-green eyes.

“You!” I gasped.

He glanced at me, but otherwise ignored my presence. He crossed the cabin to where Alexander lay still in bed.

“Leave him alone!” I cried. “He’s suffered enough by your actions!” I thought of getting up and pulling him away from Alexander, but I found I was too terrified to move.

Alexander’s creation sat on the edge of Alexander’s bed and regarded his face with a small frown. “He’s dead,” said the creature softly. “He died in his sleep.”

I watched in fascinated horror as her reached out and gently touched Alexander’s face, trailing fingers down his cheek. “You did this,” I accused. “It’s your fault. You drove him to his death!”

Alexander’s perfect man looked saddened. “I… regret what I have done to him. I only wanted him to touch me, to love me… he took that away from me. I took everything from him, until he had nothing. He is dead, and now I have nothing, too.” He leaned down and gently kissed the dead man’s lips. “Farewell, my God, my Devil, my love,” he murmured, so softly I could barely hear. Then he stood and turned his ice-green eyes on me. I shivered.

“There is nothing left for me in this world,” he said. “I will make a pyre of my sledge, and throw myself upon it, and return from whence I came.” Then, with a last lingering glance at his creator, he slipped out of my quarters and vanished from the ship.

That is all that there is to my story, dear brother. The ice broke up in the morning, and we continued to port. I have not shared what I have written to you with the crew or the research team; I fear they would think me mad. I fear _you_ will think me mad. I can only swear to you again that every word is as I witnessed it.

I hope that this letter finds you well; give my love to our parents, and to your wife and children. May it be that I find my way home to all of you soon.

Until then, I am your Loving Sister,

A.T.B.  



End file.
